


Walking the Line

by findtheword



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crime Scenes, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Occasional fluff, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findtheword/pseuds/findtheword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz has been on the run from the combined forces of the FBI and CIA for a few weeks now and she's still struggling to come to terms with everything. Red helps her come to terms with the line she has crossed while they work together to fix her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just the beginning

She was out. Out and running, hell bent on clearing her name but she couldn't get her thoughts together enough to even fathom how she could do that. She had shot the attorney general of the United States, for God's sake. Red had been right when he said she had crossed a threshold when she'd done that: there had been no gun to her head, she wasn't in physical danger at the time ... It had been in cold - if righteous - blood. Didn't all common criminals believe in their convictions? Isn't that why they broke the law - how they chose their victims?

Her somewhat misty blue eyes caught sight of a golden retriever attached to a lead being held by a four-year-old. The dog was pretty much bigger than the little girl, but she looked so proud, being in charge of the animal while her parents (presumably) chatted amongst themselves a couple of steps behind. A few months ago the sight would have made her smile indulgently. _One day_ , she would have thought, smugly self-aware of her 'perfect' husband at home. But now it seemed more like an impossible dream. It felt like, knowing Red and his many varied 'contacts', it would be more likely she would go to the moon than have their stable, normal life she craved down to her bones. She pressed her lips together, her brow furrowing a little. 

"Lizzy, where have you gone?" asked a gravelly voice to her left. 

She looked at the one person left that she could rely on - that one person she had resisted so fiercely, whom she thought herself so much better than because of her upstanding morals. Ha. The voice had brought her back to the present only enough for her to notice they'd stopped, that he was looking at her with endearing concern. She knitted her eyebrows together for a moment, in question, which apparently was enough to elicit a smile from him. 

"There you are. I was worried I was going to have to employ the skills of a certain blacklister still at large to bring you back to the land of the living." 

"I was here," she protested, though her interest was piqued by the mention of another person on that apparently long list of odious members of the criminal underbelly of the world. Of which she was now a part. She winced internally, her mouth pinching slightly at the thought. "I'm here." 

"You were just wishing you were elsewhere," he finished for her. The look on his face as he said it could have been disappointment; it could have been sympathy - Christ, it could have been gas for all she knew. Red's tie to her had been an enigma from the beginning - one that she was going to figure out, one day. She just needed to expose the Cabal, clear her name, figure out the gaps in her past, then maybe the reason for Red's preoccupation with her would come to light. The thought scared her almost as much as it excited her. "Don't worry, Lizzy. We _will_ clear your name. I have resources unimaginable to your ex-colleagues at my disposal and our plan for the Cabal is coming along quite nicely with dear Marvin's help. In the meantime." He paused to place his hat purposefully on his head. "We keep going." 

Liz took a breath and nodded, taking Red's cue and pulling up the hood of her grey hoodie. Her fashion choices had hardly been the most fetching in the last few weeks. Whatever, though - they worked. "We can do this together, right?" she asked, hanging back with her hand resting on the handle of car she had hotwired for them back in Ohio. 

"Together, Lizzy, there is very little we cannot accomplish."


	2. Out of the frying pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Red approach the Sandman to further their aim of exposing the Director and the nefarious Cabal, but even with the best laid plans ...

"So this helps us how?" asked Liz, as she followed Red down an alley and towards a steel door that looked like it hadn't been opened since it was installed back in the seventies. She kept her eye on the man whom she found herself emulating more and more frequently, drawing the gun from her waistband when she saw Red do the same. "And I thought you said you knew the guy we were seeing?"

Red paused with the palm of his hand resting on the steel door. He smiled. "Yes, Lizzy, I do know the man," he said, pushed at the door that opened a little too easily for how rusty it looked. "But that doesn't mean we'll be welcome. I believe last we met I ended up repurposing half his operation and I expect there will still be some hard feelings for that. It may have been fifteen years ago, but business is business. I should imagine if I haven't forgotten, then neither will he." Apparently he wasn't concerned that we was stepping into enemy territory in mid conversation. Liz had been with the fugitive for long enough now to trust his judgement - she just made sure she was close enough to support him if things went south. 

"Alas, if we are to push the latest scandals the Fulcrum unearthed to their farthest reach-" He led the two of them into a vestibule area, decorated in the finest - if slightly garishly luxurious - taste. 

"Whoa ..." Liz voiced, falling back as she took in the flock wallpaper, the intricate cornices, the gold leaf adornments. No matter how many times she thought she had seen and experienced too much to be bowled over by what the criminal cohort of the city could concoct in the most unlikely places there was something new that took her breath away all over again. She swore at some point she would step into a room constructed solely of stolen diamonds situated in the basement of a laundrette. Either that or Red's next contact would be Frank Sinatra. 

"We need the Sandman." 

Red temporarily stowed his weapon in his waistband while he fiddled with a picture frame on the opposite wall. "Aha," he sounded, his fingers brushing a part of the frame that gave under the pressure. "He's good at planting ideas into people's minds, but my does dear Gordon have a penchant for the cliché in locking mechanisms. He swiped the expensive-looking frame aside and ran his fingers over the panel there. 

Liz peered over his shoulder as he quickly typed. "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream?" she asked, a note of scepticism in her voice. "Isn't that a bit ..." 

"Tacky? Yes - as you may have ascertained by now, our friend the Sandman has a taste for the fine and the obvious. Cheer up, Lizzy. This only helps us!" 

On cue, the hidden door coated in flock paper swung open with nary a squeak, leading into a corridor similarly clad. Except here wiring had been twined and twisted into long cables of art along the walls. Whatever was going on here was a high-tech operation. Maybe the blacklister was less freaky-looking fairy and more technological whizz. At least if that were the case Liz would know where she stood: wishing Aram was on side so she could use someone she actually trusted - _had_ trusted - instead. 

Now focused on the job at hand, Liz and Red both palmed their firearms, keeping them down at their sides until they came to a corner in the corridor, when they led with the muzzle until they ascertained that the coast was clear. Liz frowned the further they got into the building. They had encountered no one - not even the hint of a person at work or in residence. It was eerie; the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck were bristling furiously. 

"I don't like this," Red growled, drawing to a halt, his eyes narrowed. At least it was good to know that they were on the same page. "Through this door ought to be one of the biggest underground server rooms in the country." 

"It's too quiet - we already passed through the soundproofing," Liz commented, walking over to the wall by the door and pressing her ear to it. "Where are the fans?" 

"Exactly," Red responded, walking to the other end of the room, where he had spied another picture frame door lock. His fingers brushed down the frame in the same motion as they had before. 

Suddenly a deafening alarm rang at a volume that drove both occupants of the room to their knees in pain. There was a flash and a bang; smoke filled the room, making it necessary for the duo to decide whether they wanted to save their eardrums by opening their mouths or keeping breathing, and the lights went out. Panic beset Liz's entire form, her years of training and experience leaping out the nearest window. She struggled to pull her gun free and point it blindly in front of her - but there was no one to shoot at and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Red. But what choice did she have? What could she do? The room was sealed, it was dark, it was _killing_ them. She had to do something! 

Just as she was spinning out a familiar hand grasped at her, finding her shoulder then pulling her close. With their heads together - cheeks touching - the two tried to exchange a word, but it simply wasn't possible. Instead, Red thrust a square of material vaguely at her face, and she figured out that it was to form a barrier over her nose and mouth. Then he found her hand and began to tug her towards a chink of light on the ground that she hadn't noticed in her panic. Remaining close to the ground, they inched forward, hand in hand. 

This was it. They were going to get out. She knew this wasn't going to end pretty for whomever had organised such an elaborate trap for them, but she was struggling to care. She had already proven she would pull the trigger herself in these situations - she knew that, when cornered, she would react like a wild animal. Self-preservation was a greater impetus than she had ever realised. 

And then there was another blinding flash and Red's hand was ripped from hers, causing her to lurch forward. She winced as her chin smacked into the hard floor, her gun skittering from her grip. "RED!" she yelled, her senses befuddled. The flash had half-blinded her; the alarm had stopped but her ears were ringing like crazy. Her throat and lungs burned. Although she vaguely saw a large figure dragging something - presumably her partner - away, she was in no position to follow or to effect Red's escape. 

Before she knew it, she was alone. Figurative ice formed in her veins, and she pushed herself back to sit in the corner of the room. She was alone - she had no idea how the hell she was getting out, no idea how to find Red, no idea what the hell they were really doing here other than what the man had deemed to tell her on their way in. This was - like most other things had been in her life recently - a royal mess. She had no idea why she was still alive, but God was she tired of having only this sorry excuse for a life to be grateful for. Breath rocked through her lungs, making her cough as the smoke cleared. The ringing softened and, as her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the doorway was still a little ajar, letting light through. 

Her eyes connected with a couple of items that had scattered on the ground after Red's abduction: his burner phone, his gun, his hat. She press her lips together and lunged forward for them. Her faced scrunched and she took a moment to simply gather the items on her lap, bending her body over them protectively. In that moment she made herself a promise to deliver these things back to him, personally. If her life was going to turn around, it was going to start with this, now. She had seen Red do this dozens of times: take charge, gain the advantage and win. 

If the door was ajar, she would be able to find her way out - or further in (whichever proved more useful) - and if she could get out, she would be able to track this lowlife. Of course, she couldn't do it by herself, but she knew where she could get help. Dembe would go to the ends of the Earth for his brother, and as for her contacts ... Well, she might be on their bad side, but that didn't mean she couldn't use them for a purpose. 

Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. Without Red she had no chance; with the Cabal actively seeking her head, she'd be dead in days - if she was lucky. She picked up Red's discarded burner phone from her lap, her stomach flipping at how sticky it was with his blood. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she clicked through the contacts list until she found the name she was looking for. She blew out a long breath and connected the call. 

"Ressler," came the curt answer. 

"I have a blacklister for you."


	3. Tables turned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz is playing at being Red, and Ressler is having none of it. Will Liz keep her nerve?

_'I have a blacklister for you.'_

On the other end of the line, Ressler froze at the unexpected voice. The lapse nearly made his SUV career through a red light at a busy junction, but he barely noticed. All he could do was stare incredulously out of the wind shield, aghast at the combination of words and voice.

"Liz?" he voiced. "What is this? Reddington training you up to be just like him now?" He took his foot from the accelerator and pulled over into a side street. Considering who he was speaking to, it didn't seem that his destination was all that accurate ... Tips for the duo of America's most-wanted fugitives had been plentiful in the past few weeks, to say the least, but he really thought the team had got much better at sorting out the genuine from the purely fictional. If only he was back at the Post Office, he could get Aram to run a trace. 

In the dark room, Liz bristled at the damning tone and she steeled herself. "I'm making the choices," she told him, with a slight waver that only Red would have been able to detect. Or maybe Tom, but she had no time for that particular trainwreck of thought. "I'm calling the shots."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, like he thought he was dealing with a misbehaving child who refused to turn up for detention. In reality, Liz knew Ressler would never think of her so poorly - they had traded enough blows and shots to prove that he took her supposed defection deadly seriously. She knew full well that he was using the might of the task force to try to bring her in - and she also was certain that his impressive work ethic meant that she wouldn't necessarily have to be alive for him to fulfil that obligation to his country. Although she liked to think that, if push came to shove, he'd choose to let her run rather than end her life. 

"You need to turn yourself in. Just walk away before you do any more damage - _hurt_ anyone else. I never thought you had this in you, Liz, but apparently there was a lot I didn't know. That _we_ didn't know."

Ouch. The emphasis on the 'we' not including her was painful; the 'we' included everyone she counted as a friend - pretty much everyone she knew that wasn't on the wrong side of the law. However, for now she tried to focus on that infuriating tone, the suggestion that she was merely trying to emulate Red stoking a fire that she sorely needed to keep burning if she was going to get through this alive and with freedom intact.

"I'm not here to discuss that," she told him, pressing her lips together and stepping out into the dark corridor beyond to try to make her way back to the outside world. "I'm here to put a dangerous blacklister into your hands. You know that I'm not a danger to anyone out here. The Sandman, though - Ressler, we - you - need to take this guy down." She frowned and cursed herself for the slip up ... and a little bit concerned that she wasn't actually entirely certain what the hell the guy did. "Send Aram, alone, to Casa Mono on 17th and Irving."

"Liz, stop. You know-"

She hung up, shaking her head at herself. She knew Ressler wouldn't be able to leave the bait, even if they both knew she would be stupid to show herself. However, she couldn't stop to think on that, to think on the contingencies that would now be running round Ressler's head - the calls he would be making, the traces he would be trying to catch her out with. Instead, she ploughed on. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit screen until she found the name she was looking for . "Dembe," she said as the man answered. "Things have gone bad," she said, simply, not seeing a need to spin a yarn (that was always Red's speciality, not hers). "I have a plan, but I need your help. Can you get a car and get me from the drop-off point? I'll be waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks for all the views, kudos and comments so far. Sorry this isn't the best or longest, and it's taken a while, but I'm away at the minute so it's hard to get time to write properly! More soon :)


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